Love and Gross, Mushy Red Stuff
by currycutie4427
Summary: a series of drabbles, based on one-two word prompts -mostly slash-
1. Chapter 1

posted these already on tumblr, more will be added as i do em**  
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**Love**

"I stood there looking down at the tri-state area and, and…" he teetered before going on. "…and all I could think about was where you were and if you were as content with being apart as I wished to be… I did not think it would be that hard."

"Y'really missed me," Buford tried to tease indifferently, but couldn't hide the grin tugging up the corners of his mouth.

"D-do not flatter yourself," Baljeet sputtered quickly. He sniffed, wiped his eyes and dug his chin into his arms. "I missed _us_."

**Place**

Buford's car didn't have A/C. The engine made an uncomforting sound when he sped, the windows were manual, the tape deck was missing, and every day it somehow managed to smell even more like fish flakes.

But it was still that all important next step to independence, and Baljeet felt right at home in the passenger's seat.

**Fifteen**

At fifteen they discovered there could be an outlet to their frustrations other than fists. 'Boyfriend' hadn't been uttered just yet, nor had it even been considered. The new development hadn't quite needed a new name to go with it. In a way their make out sessions were just as aggressive as their arguments, just as intense, natural and trivial, still able to bounce between their affections and afflictions as easily as when they were ten.

**Nice**

"I knew you could be."

Buford hoisted the box of un-squirell-like squirrels up with a gentle care. However, he turned round on the nerd with a tight scowl and a raised, threatening brow. "I'm what?"

"…Nothing."

**So**

That first kiss was far from perfect, magical. Both sets of eyes shut tight, each boy somehow convinced that if they couldn't see it it wasn' t happening, that everything could just go back to normal once their mouths pulled apart.

Of course, noses bumped. Foreheads knocked. Lips were unaligned. They finally admitted discomfort and leaned away.

Their hands were still holding each other, fingers still laced and clammy. They were still inches apart with the same air between them.

And all that was left to do was open their eyes and try again.

**Us**

Crushed between the dark cotton of his shirt and a layer of twisted sheets, I am ten again; every single light out, curtains drawn tight across the windows, curled up on the floor of my room with blankets veiled over my face. Safe within my own shame, strangely comforted by that dull ache in my stomach and stinging heat across my face and neck.

I have never exactly liked these feelings. I had learned early on, while foremost to avoid them as often as possible, to be ready for and conquer them. The best way is to turn inward, to detach yourself from your surroundings and simply let the negativity take you. Dark and isolation only sharpen pain, but get straight to the climax of anything and the rest is just an easy ride until tears or exhaustion put you to sleep. Whichever comes first.

Somehow his touches stir me like that, give me a thrill that is not exactly unpleasant but some slick in my mind knows it should be. It is a rush in itself, realizing those hands that had once been an endless source of torment could now be the only escape from my own tortures. At first grudgingly tolerated, later to be arbitrarily challenged, later still to be outright rejected and fought back… only to overtake me anyway.

I really could not say why I keep going back, nor why he keeps opening the door. We are not together in the 'traditional' sense- that idea of going steady is as laughable as us being together at all in the first place. But, for as long as I can stand to think about it, I have never had to trick him and he has never had to force me into any of this. Any of us.

For whatever reasons, somewhere along the line we simply became 'us'.

**Breakfast**

Morning. When had it become morning. His eyes blinked away the confusion of sleep. The arm over him was heavy but limp. Snoring filled the room and hot, slow breath hit the back of his neck. He slipped out from under his bully and sat up in the bed that wasn't his own. His glasses weren't on the cluttered bedside table, so he leaned over and felt along the carpet. His cheeks went hot as he imagined them knocking to the floor.

Almost immediately his fingers brushed then hit against a chip bag. Sudden pangs of hunger gnawed his stomach and he grabbed it. He sat back up with the half empty, opened for who knows how long bag. He sighed once, but smiled.

Stale tortilla chips had never been so delicious.

**Kama Sutra**

"We gonna try some of these?"

"Of course not," Baljeet said firmly . Though he had been thinking about it, he hadn't expected the suggestion to come up so quickly. Or so bluntly. "I mean, how? We do not have the right parts."

Buford turned a page, sniggering. "Y'mean_ you_ don't have the right parts."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, _I_ ain't gonna try bending like that."

"Neither am I. Some of those can be dangerous."

"I guess," Buford shrugged heavily and flipped through the end of the book. He stopped on a few pages, leer tugging back up as his eyes rolled over new instructions. "All this bitin and scratchin, though…"

"I am not exactly comforted by what excites you, Buford."

"S'not like it'd hurt ya. Said so right in there- if I do it in the right place it's 'erotic'."

"…Are you asking for my permission to _bite_ me?"

Another page turned, another laugh roused. "Now when have I ever _asked_ you fer anything."

**Burning**

"Well," Baljeet gave the white rope around his ankle a few slight tugs, not really expecting it to give way. Once his low expectations were confirmed he let himself go slack against the flagpole, wincing sharply as his bare back made contact with the hot metal. "…the swimsuit is certainly new."

Buford stood against the pole, ankles crossed as he dipped another finger into the jar of peanut butter. "Always gotta spice things up."

Baljeet had been told to just act like his bully's didn't really bother him. But, instead of boring Buford, the apparent indifference only made him want to try harder. He'd had his underpants strung up the flagpole, then he'd had _himself_ strung up a few times. Being half dressed seemed like the next logical step down this spiral case of humiliation.

"I still do not understand why you need my peanut butter."

"'Cause it's _yours_."

"O-oh. Fair enough."


	2. Chapter 2

more first person baljeet

ps leave me some little prompts and i'll be happy to fill them, i can always use more ideas!

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**One, Two, Three**

We had stopped under one of the park's gates.

"What?" I turned my head to catch Buford's eyes pointed up above us. They looked right at me, his mouth a straight line, then flicked back up. His fingers tightened around my arm.

A sprig of mistletoe, tied up high as if to only catch the attention of those desperate for the excuse, hung there by a bright red bow. When I was finally able to look back at him, Buford was looking back down to me. My knees locked.

We could not be standing there in the middle of the public park (a practically empty public park at this time of night, but public nevertheless) and… and…

"Just one." It was not a suggestion- not a compromise- but an order.

He leaned in. It seemed inevitable. But still, I felt I had to intervene.

"You know, ancient Norsemen would hang mistletoe in their doorways to protect them from thunder and lightening." I soon lost track of my words, pointless trivia and tidbits spilled into themselves. A pounding rang in my ears while I said whatever came to mind, anything to stave off that inevitable. For what reason I was not quite sure of. I heard a meek "it was not until the 18th century that-" when Buford tugged hard on my arm, and I fell quiet to look back over at him.

His eyelids drooped, unimpressed. "You done?"

My cheeks burned. Bitten on the outside from the cold, boiled on the inside from his words. How could he have been so calm, so _passive_ about this, while my stomach and heart had trouble keeping still and keeping up?

Breath finally left my body in fast, brief segments of fog. His grip loosened a little after I glanced down to my wrist. Just a little, just enough to let my blood continue circulation but still be held hostage. "Yes."

He leaned forward again.

All I could wonder was if I had been his first kiss. I knew that he was far from mine.

It turned out to be not one, but three, each more chaste and restrained than the last. All the while Buford's hold on my wrist turned so our palms were pressed together and his other hand reached up to fist into my collar, pulling me up and closer. Suddenly, his lips pursed then pulled away.

Without another word he stepped back, turned around, and started walking again. His hand still crushing my own I was, without any choice or chance to catch my breath, dragged along after.

There was less of an attraction and more of a magnetism between us. I know I had never had a crush on him. He certainly was the only boy I had ever done, or wanted to do, anything with. We simply fit together, regardless of our actual tastes. As for Buford's feelings, I still have no idea what they really were. Maybe he did have dreams about me. Look at me in a different way when my head was turned. Wring his hands as he wondered how I felt about him.

But, then again, maybe he only did it because he knew I had to let him.

At fourteen, I felt far too old to be holding hands for the first time. There had been others before, pretty girls in passing, but this felt entirely different, maybe if only for the fact that he was another boy. A boy that I, _especially_ I, and the rest of the neighborhood were supposed to be terrified of. But if he did not like like me and I did not like like him, at least we could simply like each other. That was more than I could ever say about our relationship.

Through our layers of cotton and elastic I could feel Buford's pulse in his palm. It was beating nearly as fast as mine, even though his face stayed blank as a slate. What I would not have given to read his mind right then, or at least to gather enough courage up to ask him what he was thinking. Ask him _any_thing. But we just kept silent the whole way, columns of questions and answers left unsaid on the frost behind us.

And we did not let go until he brought me home.


	3. Chapter 3

some old requests off tumblr. think this story's just gonna be whatever bujeet scene i splat out on whatever site, uh

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**um something halloween related?**

"Do I really gotta wear all this _girly_ crap?"

"Stop moving. And it is only _'girly'_ if you are a _girl_."

Baljeet recapped the stick of eyeliner and took up a fresh makeup sponge, while Buford folded his arms and groaned dramatically. "Thought bein a zombie'd be badass."

"Zombies have a stark white complexion and a dark circles under the eyes. If we are going to go the cliche costume look," he smeared the sponge in a tin of white foundation and raised to to Buford's face. "Trust me, you will look extremely…_" _he looked uncomfortable trying to repeat the phrase._ "_er,_ bad-ass_."

Buford rolled his eyes, but eventually tipped his chin up so Baljeet could start dabbing his freckles into nonrecognition.

**Buford scared Baljeet and then feels bad**

Buford banged his fist against the door and growled, "Quit bein such a baby and get out here!"

Silence.

More silence.

The bully groaned." S'not the first time I pranked ya, what's the big deal?"

"Your insensitivity is the big deal!" came clear and firm from inside the bedroom.

Beford stopped and rubbed his neck. Maybe those tape recorded tiger noises were a bit too much, especially since Baljeet had only just started riding his bike again. He folded his arms and sighed loudly. "What, want me ta apologize?"

After a moment, the door cracked open. Baljeet stoop slumped in the door way, eyes red from furious tears. His brows knit and his mouth was turned down. "I would like nothing less," Baljeet answered through grit teeth.

Buford felt a foreign pang of guilt in his chest. Their pranking really was countless, but he had never seen Baljeet so upset about something he had done before.

"Okay- I'm sorry."

Baljeet's brows furrowed even more.

"I'm really, really sorry. I was stupid and I won't do anything like it again," the bully sighed, "promise."

The nerd reached up to rub his eyes. "Hmm. You will have to do a lot more than that until I can forgive you."

"But yer not mad anymore, right?"

Baljeet stepped forward and sighed. "Not mad. Just hurt."

"Yeah," Buford looked away with a wince. "Sorry," he repeated.

He saw Baljeet take another step forward and then there were thin arms around him.

"So what's first on the forgiveness list?"

The nerd tipped up and kissed his cheek. "I will think of something."

**Summer before High School**

The grass was cool under their heads, still wet with morning dew and chilled with the impending Fall.

They had only just layed down in Baljeet's backyard. The nerd complained of getting his shirt wet already, but soon joined Buford on the ground so they could plan their final days of summer.

"Yes, the summer schools here are adequate, but I cannont wait to get behind a desk for _eight full hours_," Baljeet clapped his hands a little, staring at the grey tinged morning sky.

"Focus," Buford grumbled. His nerd's unending excitement about school work got on his nerves, like always, but with the new year less than a week away the bouts of enthusiasm were even more nauseating.

"Oh. Right… Do you think the beach would be too busy?"

_High school. _Middle school had been confusing enough. Buford put his arms up behind his head and listened to Baljeet chirp on about other summer-y plans.

"Are you okay?" he heard suddenly. The nerd had noticed his silence.

"Yeah."

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Like," Buford suddenly began, "What if we split up or somethin? In school I mean, ya got those hoity toity AP clases of yers and I…

There was another pause.

"Buford, you could not possibly be saying that you would _miss_ me?"

"Yeah I would," Buford cringed as soon as he said it. He rushed on without thinking, just wanting the moment to be over and forgotten, "But I ain't gonna miss ya if we stick together."

Baljeet sat up. The air was cold on his now damp back. He put a hand on his bully's arm and patted it gently, "Of course we will stay together. Even if we are not in classes together, there are still plenty of times to see each other."

The hand fell and lingered. And the touch was enough to take Buford away from his cares. It was only a flustered realization he was still there before Baljeet took it away.

The nerd fell back onto the ground and they both stared at the sky for a long, silent while.


	4. Chapter 4

prompts sent to me by SpiderWoman 9.9

the first three and last three go together. also i _really_ like writing in jeets pov, if you couldn't tell already.

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**Mail**

Two short vibrations sounded loudly atop my dresser.

_Come over?_

I sat, frozen, staring at the tiny words. It was not enough to tell him he had hurt me. Yet I could not think of any other feeling to add to that hurt. Of course he had hurt me. He had never done anything _but_ hurt me. It was what Buford lived for. Growing up, he probably spent his free time thinking up new ways to humiliate me and make me hate myself for letting him. Did I really expect now to be any different?

It was how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to be my bully. I was supposed to swallow my pride and allow it.

A simple _ok_ was all my thumb could manage.

**Regret**

"_You_ are the one that likes _me_."

As soon as it left my mouth I wanted to grab it all back- so much so that, for a moment, I could even see the words themselves hanging there between us, as if I really could reach out, stuff them in my pockets and run away.

Instead, my knees gave way for a moment. I sat down on the edge of the bed and turned away from him. I wanted to leave, but I did not want to leave him.

He reached around to me, a hand on my shoulder, then left. I turned slightly to look at him looking at anywhere but me.

"I do like you. A lot. I'll," his hands wrung. He was nervous. "I'll leave it alone if you don't want this."

I waited for more. When it didn't come, I sighed. "I do not even know what 'this' is."

He shrugged, helpless. "Sorry."

I had hurt him. Even if it had not been as much as he had hurt me, I still hurt him. And for the first time I hated that I had.

Call me stupid. I touched his arm, I kissed him, I let him pull me in, and, as I did every time I gave myself over, I promised myself that this would be the last time.

**Lust**

That summer after graduation, that summer when we should have been finalizing our first semesters, touring campuses, filling out applications, looking for jobs, apartments, roommates; most of those days were spent behind a locked door, radio volume turned to ten.

**Passion**

The sun had only just disappeared when Baljeet closed his front door behind him. Buford was waiting out on the curb, engine idling, and didn't turn his head when the passenger side door opened and his nerd slipped inside.

"What d'ya wanna do tonight?"

"Hmmm…"

"The drive-in's doin a creature feature. Fly, Blob, Thing…"

Baljeet smiled at him. "Well, that certainly sounds romantic."

Buford grinned back. "You got cash?"

"Hm? Oh, yes…" he reached down into his backpack, finding a ten dollar bill in the zippered pouch he had specifically assigned for money.

Buford looked at the wrinkle-free bill with a slight frown. He finally shrugged and took it from him. "Too bad. I was lookin forward to stuffin you in the trunk."

Baljeet laughed along with him, but couldn't be entirely sure he was joking.

**Laugh**

"'Member the first time y'crawled into my bed?"

"Ugh. Do not remind me."

"Haha! How'd a guy in a rubber suit even freak ya out that bad?"

"Please, it was not the monster. It was the scientist's downfall. He lost his mind because of his mind. Done in by your own intelligence…" he paused to close his eyes and shudder, "oh, it frightens me just thinking about it."

"Shh babe, I'm here."

Baljeet shoved Buford with a playful snicker.

**Fear**

"Hey, Buford! See? I knew this was his car." He turned his head to the side, "Hi, Baljeet- …you okay?"

"I, erm…"

"Chromedome dropped something."

"Yes. That."

"You guys just get here?"

"Nah," Phineas shook his head, then jutted his chin to the movie screen where the main girl had finally gotten the courage to kiss the main guy, "just thought we'd wait till the boring part to get snacks."

"Boys," a just slightly irritated but somehow still sugary voice piped behind them. Isabella eased her way between the two and gently pushed them towards the snack stand. "Don't forget to get mine butter-free."

Ferb opened his mouth, but Phineas grabbed his brother's arm and guided him toward the snack line. "Oh. Sure thing, Isabella. Be right back!"

Buford leaned an elbow out of the window, watching the two leave with a raised brow. "Both of 'em? Color me impressed."

"Oh," Isabella sighed loudly. "No. I tell Phineas 'we' should go see a movie, and of course they both show up at my door. And Ferb hasn't been any help. He thinks it's just _so funny_ to keep tagging along, he knows I just want to be alone with him…"

Buford just nodded and blinked as she leapt into her familiar tirade.

In 8th grade he and Isabella had formed some kind of bond over having crushes on a certain pair of boys who just couldn't get it. They'd meet in the halls after classes with said crushes, relaying new ideas, encouraging each other to just try and try again.

Inevitably, Isabella had been more than frustrated when Buford showed up to school one day finally holding Baljeet's hand. What strained her even more was when she asked him just what had done it at last, and Buford simply told her "Nothin' new. Maybe we're just meant to be."

"I've been about as blunt as a lead pipe. And I'd tell ya I'd just quit if that obliviousness weren't so damn _cute_." She sighed again, returning to her more usual sweetness after getting a chance to vent. "Well, I'd better get back. Wish me luck."

"You'll need it," Buford waved his fingers.

Isabella punched him in the arm.

"So, wanna join us?" she leaned down into the window to glance back at Baljeet with a smile. "Or… are you busy enough here."

Buford's now sore forearm distracted him from answering her, leaving Baljeet to peer up from the dashboard. "Erm… thank you, but we are good."

"Of course. See you Monday." With a wave and a quick turn she was gone.

"Geeze," Buford grumbled incredulously, still rubbing his arm. "I never even see her bench more than 50…"

He looked over at Baljeet. The nerd's face was still pressed into the dashboard, shoulders heaving quickly from the fear of nearly getting caught.

Buford rubbed the back of his head with his good hand, then lightly touched Baljeet's shoulder. "Uh... you wanna get outta here?"

Baljeet turned slightly before sitting up again. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the seat, eyes closed. "Yes. Yes, I do."

"'Aight."

They were back on the road in minutes, radio blaring a faintly familiar rock song.

It was too dark now for Baljeet to hide in his books. He pressed his knees together and twisted his hands over his lap, still semi hard despite the sick feeling in his stomach. He was starting to think the shame of it all turned him on.


End file.
